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Of Books and Birds
The French doors in my office open onto the lawn that is bordered by a forest of trees, and from my desk I have a magnificent view of nature’s bounty. Approximately a month ago, I turned from my computer screen and witnessed the ritual dance of a pair of redbirds. The scarlet male flirted, switched his tail. “Come on, honey. I’m choosing you.” The less brilliant female played hard to get, but eventually she succumbed to his charms, and they became a couple.
They built a nest in the cedar tree right outside my kitchen window. I watched as this twosome worked so diligently bringing pine straw and twigs, and leaves to fashion a perfectly round cozy nest. Heather (my name for the female) laid her eggs. Two tiny eggs and Henry, the male, took his turn sitting on those eggs. Sometimes Henry would bring Heather a worm and she’d open wide for her dinner and then nestle back down on her eggs. I waited. When would they hatch? Would I be present for the births?
I wasn’t. We went out of town, and when I returned, there was one downy head barely visible in the nest. I rushed to my computer to read everything I could find about redbirds, and I learned that we were now in the incubation period, which meant constant feeding for two days. It was an exhausting process. Both H & H worked furiously taking turns going and coming with food back and forth without pause.
The next morning I see another small body squirming around in the nest. This baby was much smaller than the other, but it was surviving. I decided the larger one was a male and the smaller a female. Brother and sister. Brother managed to perch on the top of the nest, and from there, he made it to a branch, where he sat with his mouth open at the ready for more food. Heather complied and then she hopped from branch to branch. “See how you do this?” She’d look back, repeat a hop, look back. Brother leapt and leapt. Follow the leader. Meantime Henry is back with meals on demand, feeding Heather and both of the kids. Heather flies away, flies back, flies away, flies back. Brother watches intently, flaps his wings, and off he goes. When he returns, he lands far away from the nest in the tree. As he looks around the tree, it appears he needs a navigator or a tree map. But H & H have anticipated this. They sit beside their home and make clicking sounds. “Click click click,” follow the clicks to home.
But what has happened to baby Sis? She’s barely moving and Heather looks worried and jumps in the nest. My husband says, “Oh no, the baby must be defective and now she’s smothering it.” I cry out, “No, she’s just comforting, encouraging.” I hope I hope I hope. Heather leaves and the bird remains still. I crane my head as far as possible. No movement. Hubby was right. I mourn all morning long.
Lunchtime and I’m back just to make sure. There is Sister sitting up on the edge of the nest. She’s so tiny I think she will fall and a cat or a snake will snatch her up for dinner. I cross my fingers, whisper, “Hold on tight. Hold on.” She does and after repeating the process Brother went through with Heather, she’s off, a tiny speck in the sky.
It’s a noisy afternoon. When the crows come, Henry chases them away from his children. He stabs with his beak and Heather sits high on a cable line watchful for enemies who would harm her babies who are learning how to fly higher and faster with every attempt. She’s the lookout and she switches her tail when she sees a predator. Henry gets the signal and takes chase.
And then they’re gone. I’ve anticipated this. I read that the young birds now must leave to join a band of juveniles and begin their new lives. I didn’t read that the parents accompany them part of the way on the trip, but I decide that’s what these wonderful parents would do.
Today they’re back, sans children, but I know that there will be another nest, more eggs, and more brothers and sisters before fall arrives. I’ll be watching for them.
So what’s this got to do with the word “books” in the title of this entry? Well, nothing really, and maybe it’s a bad analogy, but to me, the process of writing a book is similar in several ways. We plan for our future book, flirt with ideas, characters, point of view, plot, and tone. We begin to build our book much like H & H’s nest. Twig by twig, scene by scene, we build until we think we have a complete manuscript. But now the hard work begins. Let it sit a while; we know we need revisions to hatch. But there’s a struggle, too. One idea seems perfect; another might require smothering. We rewrite rewrite over and over, learning our craft, following what we know works, copying the masters like Brother and Sister copied Heather and Henry. And finally we spread our wings and test them in the marketplace. It’s scary out there. There are editors and agents who are birds of a different feather; they reject our babies; they want us to be like those other writers who are on the best seller list. If we’re lucky, very very lucky, we find someone who’s willing to let us join their band of like authors and our book will find its home.
My sequel to Right As Rain hasn’t found its home yet. It’s roosting on my agent’s desk, but I’m hoping it will take flight soon and find its nest with someone I admire. In any case, it has taken flight and now I’m flirting with an idea, hoping to begin the process of building a new nest very soon.
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